


Gynaikeia

by Remeinhu



Series: These Fragile Bodies [5]
Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Character, Character with ADHD, F/F, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Mild Smut, Painful Sex, Panic Attacks, meltdowns, memories of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24676240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remeinhu/pseuds/Remeinhu
Summary: When Anne starts experiencing abdominal pain, it hits Cathy far too close to home.
Relationships: Anne Boleyn & Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn & Katherine Howard, Anne Boleyn/Catherine Parr, Anne of Cleves & Catherine of Aragon, Catherine Parr & Jane Seymour, Catherine of Aragon & Catherine Parr, Katherine Howard & Catherine Parr
Series: These Fragile Bodies [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800094
Comments: 31
Kudos: 116





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic fleshes out a headcanon that occurred to me while writing "Love and Work"--namely, that because of how she died, Cathy is utterly fanatical about gynecological health.
> 
> There is a brief, moderately explicit sex scene at the very beginning, but it's to advance the plot and is distinctly anaphrodisiac.

“ _Fuck, ow!”_

That was _not_ the phrase Cathy, who currently had three fingers metacarpal-deep inside Anne, had been expecting to hear. She withdrew immediately.

“Anne?” She peered anxiously at her girlfriend, who was grimacing. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not quite sure.” Anne was rubbing the left side of her abdomen, just above her pubic bone. “All I know is that I was just about to come, and then I…didn’t. I just got a really nasty cramp or something instead.” She laughed ruefully. “Pretty damned rude, if you ask me.”

“Eek. That’s not good.”

“Cath, it’s probably just a side-stich. I’m sure it isn’t a big deal. Just give me a minute, and we can try again.”

“I’m not…really in the mood for it now, Anne. I’m worried about you.”

Anne sighed. “My darling hypochondriac, I _promise_ I’ll be all right.” She reached for her Magic Wand. “Mind if I at least try to finish?”

“Sure, go for it.” Cathy was far from convinced, but she tried to tell the fear rising in her gut to go jump in a lake. _It’s just a muscle cramp,_ she thought, staring pointedly out the window and rocking gently back and forth as she tried to ground herself to the low hum of the vibrator. As Anne let out soft moans of pleasure, Cathy even began to feel herself relax a bit. _It’s just a muscle cramp. This isn’t the sixteenth century; we understand more about how these things work. It’s fine._ She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _Maybe I’ll join in after all…_

“Ohhh…yes, yes… _ouch, goddamn it, not again!”_

Cathy’s stomach sank, and she felt her throat tighten. _Oh no. This is bad. This is bad._ She knew she should reach out and soothe Anne, but she couldn’t seem to move. She fought to stay in the present, but the phantom, twisting pain in her womb threatened to pull her under—

— _She ached to hold her new daughter—_ Mary, _they had named her Mary, for God’s sake, why couldn’t she reliably remember that?—but she was too weak and feverish to get up, and in any case her abdomen hurt so badly she could scarcely move. She gagged at the stench of the discharge that seeped into the bed linens from between her legs, still raw from Meg’s—no, for the love of everything holy,_ Mary’s!— _birth._

_She knew she was dying. She’d known it was a risk, especially at her age. She’d even seen it happen to her predecessor and sister-in-law, Queen Jane, might she rest. Yet it still seemed grossly unfair that she should survive the world’s most infamous husband, and finally claim the life she’d planned before catching his eye—only to see the man she had loved exposed for the cad and lecher he was, to be horrified at herself as she tolerated and abetted his abuse of her stepdaughter (she thought that in her fever, she’d finally told him what a horrible thing he’d done, but she truly couldn’t remember) and then, in a final insult, to die bearing his child._

_She writhed and cried out as another wave of pain tore through her guts. Dimly, she could hear someone shouting._

_For God’s sake, why couldn’t they at least give a dying woman some quiet? Someone seemed to be shouting her name, but she only wished they’d leave her alone—_

“CATHY!” She blinked as the world— _well, the_ new _one—_ swam slowly back into focus. Anne was crouched in front of her, holding both of her hands in her own, anxiously looking into her face. Behind Anne, she thought she could see Catalina and Jane, kneeling in front of the bed, each reaching a hand toward her.

Belatedly, it dawned on her that she and Anne were both stark naked. She grabbed for a pillow in a weak attempt to cover herself up, but no one else seemed to care.

“Cathy, love.” Anne’s voice was unusually gentle. “It’s all right. We’ve got you. You’re okay.”

She reached out and pulled Anne to her chest, clinging to her desperately, tears falling into her hair. “I was…dying…’gain,” she sobbed. “…Don’t…want t’…lose you, too.”

“Oh, Cathy.” Jane had climbed carefully onto the bed beside her and began to stroke her curls. “Flashbacks are always awful, aren’t they?” Cathy gulped and nodded, thinking about the times she’d held and soothed Jane when a bout of food poisoning or an especially nasty period had triggered vivid memories of _her_ final illness.

She supposed it was, at least, a macabre mercy that each of them had a “death buddy,” such as it was, who understood intimately what the particular memories felt like. Anna and Catalina cared for each other when phantom cancer pains racked their chests or stomachs. Anne and Kitty always carried spare scarves or chokers for each other, and held one another as they relived the terror and humiliation of their beheadings. And, well, here she and Jane were now.

She’d also noticed that each set of death buddies had certain relevant convictions or behaviors they were utterly fanatical about. Anne and Kitty had both come back to life with a blazing sense of justice and an absolute intolerance of bullying of any kind. Anna had become a gym rat, and Catalina was forever reminding the other queens to regularly perform every possible home cancer screening. Jane was downright evangelical about sanitation and infection control.

Cathy, meanwhile—perhaps appropriately, since her girlfriend had claimed the role of house sexpert—had learned everything she could about gynecological best practices, and did her damndest to enforce them on everyone else. As soon as she’d read about the new HPV vaccine, she’d practically frog-marched the rest of them to the nearest clinic to begin the sequence. She’d harangue her fellow queens incessantly to schedule their yearly pelvic exams, and she had only backed off interrogating them about how frequently they changed their tampons when Kitty had told her, in terms that brooked no argument, that she was barreling towards a line that was, for her at least, not just intrusive but seriously triggering.

(“But you could get sepsis!” Cathy had insisted. Kitty looked her dead in the eye, which always made her flinch. “Catherine Parr, I am _not_ discussing this any further. You _will_ stop. Immediately.” She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.

Once she’d had a moment to think about it, of course, she’d felt utterly sick about her obstinance, and had apologized as soon as she could. She now made a point of accompanying Kitty to her exams and holding her hand throughout the procedure.)

As she tried to steady her breathing, she clung to that fanaticism as a lifeline. “Anne,” she whispered. “Please call and make an appointment to get this looked at as soon as possible. Please. For me.”

“Okay, love. For you, I promise I’ll do it.”

She looked distinctly uncomfortable, though.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne's visit to a gynecologist calls up unpleasant memories.

Anne fidgeted in the uncomfortable chair in the exam room, wishing she’d remembered to bring a pack of gum or some silly putty and kicking herself for insisting on going alone. True, Cathy’s anxiety on her behalf had been smothering, and she’d feared that any mildly worrisome comment from the doctor would trigger another flashback. But she really could have used some company, and she wished she’d asked one of the others to come along.

“Ms. Boleyn?” A woman with warm brown skin and meticulous braids swept atop her head in an elegant twist stepped into the room. She wore a white coat over a pale pink blouse and a gray wrap skirt, and her voice sounded odd to Anne, before she placed the accent as American. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Doctor Landon.”

“Likewise.” Anne internally told her body to _be still, dammit!_

“I understand you’ve been experiencing some pelvic pain. Can you tell me more about that?”

Anne squirmed. _Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re the house sexpert, why are you suddenly bashful?_ “Well, it’s a bit embarrassing. My girlfriend and I were, um, having sex”— _damnit, Boleyn, since when do you stutter over the word “sex?!”—"_ and when I was about to have an orgasm, instead I got a nasty cramp, right about here.” She pointed to a spot on her lower-left abdomen. “I waited a few minutes, tried it again with the vibrator, and the same thing happened.” She laughed, reflexively. “I think it was only a side-stitch, but Cathy—that’s my girlfriend—absolutely freaked out and insisted I come in.”

Dr. Landon nodded. “That’s certainly one possible explanation, but not the only one. Do you mind if I ask some more detailed questions? I’m sorry if they’re uncomfortable.”

“Go for it.”

“When did your last period begin?”

“About three weeks ago.”

“Were you having penetrative sex of any kind when this happened?”

“The first time, yes. With fingers. The second time I was just using a vibrator.”

“I see. Have you had any other history of painful sex?”

“Not recently, no.”

“Other pelvic pain or menstrual problems?”

Anne hesitated. “My medical history is…well, frankly, it’s just weird. How much does my chart say about that?”

Dr. Landon glanced at her notes. “Ah. That’s right. You’ve done what should be physically impossible, and no, I have no idea how to explain it, so I’m not going to try.”

“Yep. You’re admirably unfazed, well done.” Anne found herself warming up to the woman, and she began to relax slightly. “I guess I want to know whether you’re asking that question about four years ago, or five hundred years ago? Because honestly, I’M not sure how much my old body has to do with what’s going on in this one. I mean, the old body had one live child, three known miscarriages, and God only knows how many STIs, given who I was married to. Also it had its head cut off. I don’t know how _that_ figures into any of it, other than I have a scar, and all my old memories, so clearly the two bodies aren’t _completely_ unrelated.”

Dr. Landon laughed weakly. “Well, fair enough. I honestly have no idea how that figures in or not--there aren't exactly other case histories we can rely on!--but we’ll keep all of it in the notes so that if we _do_ find something it might seem to account for, we’ll have that information. And who knows, maybe it’ll give some stiff-necked old attending the vapors one day, and be good for a laugh.” She winked at Anne. “What about in _this_ body?”

“Not really, no. I haven’t had sex with anyone other than Cathy since coming back, either, and I’m pretty sure my last round of STI tests were negative. Cathy’s pretty religious about all of us getting tested. I’ve also had two of three doses of the HPV shot. Anything else you need?”

“Just for you to confirm that the medications on your chart are still accurate. You’re still taking the Vyvanse?” Anne nodded. “Okay. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to do a bimanual exam.” She must have noticed that Anne was suddenly gripping the arms of her chair for dear life. “I’m sorry. I can only begin to imagine some of the things it might call up for you, but I can’t help you without the information I can get from it.”

“It’s all right. I’ll close my eyes and think of England.” Anne forced out a laugh. “Just promise me you won’t chop my head off if you don’t like what you find, yeah?”

“Unlike many of the things I’m asked to promise, I _assure_ you I can deliver that. If you’ll change into the gown and get up on the table, I’ll be back in five minutes, okay?” She walked over to the door, and smiled at Anne. “You know, your sense of humor reminds me a bit of an old friend from school. She’s a political journalist now…snarkiest person I’ve ever met, but has a soft side she’d kick me for telling anyone about. Anyway, take your time. I’ll knock first, ok?”

___

_Just breathe. No one is expecting anything from you. No one is going to kill you this time._ Anne struggled all the same not to clench her pelvic floor as Dr. Landon gently but firmly palpitated her abdomen.

“Hm. Everything mostly feels fine, but your left ovary _is_ slightly enlarged.” She withdrew. “You can put your legs down now, if you’d like, and there’s another sheet you can cover up with.” Anne drew her knees to her chest, wrapping the sheet around her.

Dr. Landon sat down on a stool beside her. “Okay. First of all, this is _not_ a cause for panic. The most likely explanation is that you have what’s called a functional ovarian cyst. Every time you ovulate, the ovary forms a small, cystic structure called a follicle that will normally release an ovum. Sometimes, the egg doesn’t release properly and the follicle continues growing. That can cause swelling and exactly the kind of painful sex you experienced, but they almost always clear up after another cycle or two.”

“That’s reassuring. What’s next?”

“Well, unfortunately, just to absolutely rule out anything more serious, I _would_ like to order a transvaginal ultrasound. I’m not going to lie to you, they’re not the most pleasant thing, but once it’s done I hope it will put your mind at ease. After that, if you’re concerned about this happening again, we can talk about whether it makes sense for you to try a kind of hormonal birth control that will stop you from ovulating—which, in turn, should cut off the process that forms these.”

Anne’s stomach dropped. _Not another inspection…But if I don’t, Cathy’ll freak._ ”I’ll manage. When can we get me in?”

___

By the time Anne had gotten dressed, scheduled the ultrasound and the follow-up appointment, and returned to the waiting room, she was quickly losing her own battle to stay in the present.

_When she returned to court after her latest miscarriage, it was clear that others had noticed Henry’s increasing coldness toward her. The gossip had always been vicious, but now it_ all _seemed to be about her—how she’d failed_ again, _how she was on thin ice…_

_“The concubine looks slender again, and no son…”_

_“…punishment for her scheming…”_

_“She has miscarried of her savior…”_

_“…mark you how the King’s eye has turned to Lady Seymour?”_

_“I give the shrew six weeks before he puts her aside. She will be most lucky to keep her head.”_

Anne blinked and sat down in one of the chairs. Her hair was suddenly too heavy. Her clothing felt like it was made of ants. Her scalp itched, and she clawed at it savagely, the pain grounding her for a moment before the itching surged back, worse than before. And now she couldn’t ignore the echo of pain in her “slightly swollen left ovary.” _It sounds so miniscule. I know better! Damn all ovaries—I’d trade them for my head in a heartbeat!_

_I should have brought someone along. I can’t take the tube home. I’ll never make it._

_Think, Anne. Think._ She groped in her bag— _god, it’s a disaster in here, why can’t I keep anything organized?—_ until she finally retrieved her phone.

After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, she heard Catalina’s voice in her ear. “Anne? What’s the matter?”

Anne’s voice broke. “Lina? Can you come get me? ‘M at the clinic.”

She heard rustling and jingling at the other end of the line. “Just hold on, _Lorita_. I’ll be right over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra credit to anyone who correctly identifies Dr. Landon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne and Cathy process the emotional fallout of Anne's visit to Dr. Landon.

Once Anne was safely in the passenger’s seat of Catalina’s car, some of the pressure building in her chest and behind her eyes seemed to release. She tilted the seat back and let her arms fall heavily to her sides.

“Thanks. I’m sorry to have dragged you away from whatever you were doing. I wish I weren’t such a mess—”

“Shush. Don’t even think of apologizing. We show up for each other, no?” She put the key in the ignition, but before turning the car on she placed her hand on Anne’s forehead. It was cool and heavy and helped drain some more tension away. “ _Lorita,_ you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to, but if you do, I’m here.”

Anne turned to Catalina. “Why do you call me that?”

“ _Lorita?_ Little parrot? I suppose that’s what you remind me of.” She pulled out of the lot. “You’re loud and colorful and you’re either in furious motion or you’re zoned out.”

“And I’m always shouting inappropriate things, making a mess, and annoying the hell out of everyone around. Yep. That’s me. It’s even on my medical record.”

“I wasn’t finished. You’re also socially aware, terrifyingly brilliant, and you’re innovative and resourceful, and _so_ determined—ever seen a parrot pick the lock to its own cage? I have.” Catalina chortled softly. “When I was a little girl, I had a bright green parakeet with a smart black ring around his neck. I named him Rafael—Rafi for short—because he had wings like an angel and because he was my companion wherever I went. He would get in such mischief, and he learned to say several rather naughty things. Goodness, my father despised that bird! I loved him, though. When I had to go marry Arthur, I’m not ashamed to say that a good number of the tears I shed were because I had to leave Rafi. I hope he found another little imp to get into scrapes with, especially since parrots can live a very, very long time.”

Anne was startled to find herself crying as she thought of young Catalina boarding a ship, knowing she would never see her friend again—and of poor Rafi, with no understanding of where his featherless companion had gone.

“Oh, my darling. I think for much of his life he must have been a very happy bird.” She briefly squeezed Anne’s hand before putting her own back on the steering wheel. “What I was going to say, _Lorita,_ was that after I got over my initial anger at you, I often watched you—especially onstage, with your green dress and _your_ smart black choker, flying around the theatre and making everyone laugh with your mischief—and wondered whether, when God brought you back, God decided to slip Rafi’s spirit in along with yours.”

That did Anne in, and she doubled over in sobs. Catalina pulled over into another lot, turned off the ignition, and held her until eventually her shoulders stopped shaking and she could breathe properly again.

“Lina,” she gasped. “They want me to go back for an ultrasound, and I _know_ I need to, but I _can’t_ face them… _looking…_ at me any more! I know it’s to help me, and _God,_ I know seeing anything like this just _breaks_ Cathy—but _all_ I can think about is people whispering that I’ve failed, that I’ve _fucked it up again,_ because I couldn’t keep my trap shut or my legs shut or my womb open— and knowing that the walls are closing in around me and there’s _nothing_ I can do about it!”

Catalina smoothed Anne’s straggling hair and placed a light kiss in the center of her forehead. She could have said several things at that point. She could have said “at least you know what you need to do.” She could have said “Cathy knows how hard this is for you, I’m sure of it.” She could have said “you know I understand _just_ how you feel, don’t you?”

All of those things would have been perfectly true, and none of them would have helped at all, so it was fortunate that, in fact, she said none of them.

Instead, she said, simply, “Then I’ll go with you.”

___

Cathy knew she shouldn’t have felt hurt when Anne insisted on going to her appointment without her, but she couldn’t help it, especially after Anne went out and left her pacing the length of her room.

_What if it’s ovarian cancer? Half the time with that, by the time you have recognizable symptoms, it’s too late! What if we weren’t careful enough with that remote-control vibrator and I gave her an infection, and now she has pelvic inflamatory disease? What if I accidentally scratched her vaginal walls, and there was something under my nails, and this is the first sign of sepsis? Oh, God. She’s going to get horrible news, and I won’t be there with her._

_Or she’ll need to follow up, and she won’t do it_ _because I wasn’t there to ensure she made the appointment._

_Damnit, there’s too much light in here, and the neighbor won’t turn off his fucking leaf blower…_ Her head ached and her chest felt so tight she thought she might explode. She yanked violently at the curtains, but light trickled in around the edges, mocking her, and the leaf blower whined on.

_ShutupshutupshutupshutUP “SHUT UP!”_ Cathy shrieked, tripping over a stack of books as she lunged for the curtains again. Fortunately for the curtains but unfortunately for her, her ankle gave out and she crumpled onto the floor, keening wildly.

When Jane came running at the sound of the scream and the crash, that was how she found Cathy. Without a word, she crouched down beside her and reached a tentative arm out to touch her shoulder. When Cathy didn’t shrink away, she helped her get to her feet and guided her over to the bed, curling up next to her and holding her hand.

Once Cathy’s sobs had subsided and her breathing steadied, she looked over at Jane. “Should’ve…gone w’ Anne,” she mumbled, as if it were somehow slightly harder than normal to get her words out. “She didn’t want me though. I’m scared for her. Don’t understand why she didn’t want me.”

“Oh, love.” Jane squeezed her hand, and Cathy worked her way over until Jane’s arms were all the way around her shoulders. The weight made her feel calmer, and she wondered, not for the first time, whether she really ought to invest in one of those weighted blankets.

“Of course you’re worried, Cathy,” Jane continued. “You don’t know what’s happening with Anne; all you know is that the kind of pain she’s having is hitting you in the place it hurts most. And it came on just when you were trying to make her as happy as you possibly could. I’m sure that’s another thing that brings up the memories of childbirth. Even though things are different now, it’s still so hard to shake the fear that sex can easily kill you.”

_Oh, my. That hadn’t even occurred to me, but it makes dreadful sense._ “I still don’t understand why she didn’t want me there,” she said, words coming somewhat more easily now that Jane was holding her and that her body was blocking the light. “I mean, I know I should. But it feels like she’s just confirming it’s something I did to her.”

“I’m sure the gyno’s office is a very difficult place for Anne,” Jane said, after a moment. “And no matter how well you meant, and how correct you are—and I agree with you, by the way, Anne absolutely needed to go get checked out—you’re still the one who insisted she go.”

“All the more reason I should be there! I’m trying to help her!”

”Cathy, love, think about this from Anne’s perspective for a moment.” Jane squeezed her softly. “We all had pressure to bear a son, of course, but by the time you came around, no one really expected that Henry was in any condition to sire anything on anyone. Your womb wasn’t quite in the same fishbowl the rest of ours were. Anne, though? She knew from the moment Henry started eyeing her up that _everything_ depended on her bearing a son at just the right time. And then she couldn’t, and it cost her her life. Think what it must call up for her to have someone else scrutinizing her reproductive organs.”

“That’s not at all what I’m trying to do!” Cathy protested. “I _want_ her to stay alive!”

“I know that, love, and so does she. But you know as well as I do that our memories sometimes just don’t care.” She shifted weight slightly. “Look. Logically, you know that the probability that Anne or any of the rest of us will specifically die of childbed fever again is vanishingly small, right? But as soon as you registered that she was having even a hint of pelvic pain, your mind _immediately_ went there, because you’d experienced that so strongly that it was as if there was a big shortcut to it.”

“Yes…”

“So anything that even looks a _little_ like reproductive scrutiny is likely to have a similar effect on Anne, no?”

Cathy sighed, and tried to think about the snap in her mind that had occurred the moment Anne had first yelped out in pain. She tried to picture what the clinic must feel like to Anne. She’d been dipping her toes into the work of Michel Foucault lately, and the term _panopticon_ —a structure in which you could always be seen but could never tell who could see you—sprang into her mind. She gulped. “Oh no…”

“Shh, love. Anne will be all right. Just be prepared to give her either comfort or space when she gets home.”

___

Cathy told herself over and over again as she waited that if Anne needed space, it did _not_ mean she’d somehow harmed her unforgivably, but her heart still sank when the door opened and she heard her footsteps heading directly to her own room. She strained her ears to determine whether anyone was talking about what had transpired at the clinic that day, but could only hear vague murmuring.

She was so wrapped up in trying to listen that she almost failed to register the tap on her door.

She opened it, and there was Anne, red-eyed and disheveled. Before she could react, Anne swept her up in her arms and held her for a long, long moment. “It’s probably just a minor cyst, Cath,” she said, quaveringly. “I’ll have to get an ultrasound to make sure, and I’m really scared of it. But I’m going to be okay.”

Cathy buried her face in Anne’s shoulder, sensing that both of them were, for the first time that day, feeling safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expect one, *possibly* two chapters after this.
> 
> Rafi is a ring-necked parakeet, and I swear, when I looked up "parrots native to Spain," I was not deliberately looking for one that matched Anne's costume, but it's just too good.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne fears what the results of her ultrasound might mean. Cathy reassures her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. There will be at least one more full chapter, and then an epilogue.

That night, Anne slept naked, burrowing herself as close to Cathy as she could possibly manage. Dr. Landon had advised her to avoid sex for at least a full cycle, but she still desperately needed the comfort of Cathy’s skin against her own.

“Cath?” she whispered.

“Mmm?”

“If I _am,_ God forbid, really sick, will you still love me?”

“Of course I will, you goose.” She must have felt Anne tense up, because her tone quickly sobered. “What made you wonder?”

Anne curled in on herself. “Didn’t you have enough of being Queen nursemaid the last time around? That’s the story, right? You had to give up everything you’d planned for to marry a fat, sick tyrant.”

She felt a soft kiss on the back of her neck. “Anne, love. What do you think is the operative word in that sentence?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said ‘a fat, sick tyrant.’ Of those words, which one is the only word that matters for why That Man was a nightmare?”

Anne didn’t answer, so after a moment, Cathy continued. “‘Tyrant.’ That’s the only thing. He was a nightmare because he couldn’t bear not controlling everyone and everything he touched. If he’d been a good man who treated the people around him like they had value in and of themselves, he would have been desirable no matter what he weighed, no matter how ulcerated his legs were, no matter how badly he’d hit his head.” _And when he killed you,_ Anne could almost feel Cathy thinking, _he was still young, slim, and conventionally dashing. When he threw Catalina away like soiled linen, he hadn’t even had a horse fall on top of him yet. No matter; he was still rotten where it counted._

“Fat and sick can still be beautiful and sexy and absolutely worthy of love, Anne. The only thing that’s none of that is evil.”

Anne swallowed hard and blinked back tears. “Asshole. I’ve already cried enough today.” She turned herself around so she faced Cathy and rested her head on the smooth skin below her collarbone. “It’s just that I feel like such a fuckup already. My brain doesn’t work right. Even with the medicine, I can’t seem to stop losing things, or making impulsive decisions that end up getting someone hurt, or saying something I shouldn’t. And I should know that has consequences! Last time it got me _and_ my brother _and_ two other innocent people killed—”

Cathy interrupted. “Anne. Listen to me. The _only_ person to blame for killing those people is King Fuckface.”

“But I _knew_ —”

“No. _He_ made the choice to kill people who became inconvenient for him. That’s the end of it.”

“Fine. But I feel like I already make your life hard enough. What happens if I end up needing even more help?”

“Oh, my heart.” Cathy pulled Anne in closer. “First of all, love, you don’t make my life difficult, certainly not more than letting _any_ other person in this intimately would make it. You make my life joyful and interesting.” Anne opened her mouth to object, but Cathy gently placed one finger across her lips.  
  


“Second of all,” Cathy continued, “I don’t know what gave you the impression that my brain works ‘normally,’ such as it is, either. Or have you not noticed how cranky and fragile I get when something’s too bright or too loud or feels just _wrong?_ How it takes me ages to realize that the person I’m talking to has no interest whatsoever in what I’m rambling on about? Or how I seem to trip over _everything?_ You should have seen me earlier today; I was so worried about you, and it was too bright, and the neighbor’s leaf blower _wouldn’t_ stop—well, long story short, I screamed, tried to attack the curtains, tripped over my own feet, and fell over into a blubbering heap. I’ve been thinking for some time, actually, that it might be worth getting evaluated…at any rate, love, don’t assume I don’t know what it’s like to feel that you’re having an unfathomably hard time at something that seems like second nature to other people. I get it. It’s one reason I love you; the rocks in your head fit the holes in mine.”

“And _finally_ —” Cathy held up her finger once more— “if you need more help, we’ll give it to you. I will, the other four of us will, and if we need help from outside we’ll get it. In this house, my love, unlike _him,_ we do _not_ get rid of people just because they become _inconvenient._ ”

Anne buried her face in Cathy’s breasts for a long moment, then looked up. “You’ll still keep me even though we can’t fuck for a month?”

“A grave hardship, I admit. But I shall persevere.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who gets so wet she has to change her underwear whenever she hears you say the word ‘hermeneutic.’”

“You’re _not_ helping.”

“Especially since my face is still in your tits.”

“Cool your jets, Boleyn. Let’s think about…I don’t know, close-stools.”

“What?”

“In the height of summer. In a windowless room. And there were _lots_ of onions at high table the previous night.”

“Ewwww! Cathy!”

“Exactly.”

Anne snickered, and then was silent for several minutes. “Cathy?” she asked softly. “Will you sing to me?”

“Of course, love. What shall I sing?”

“Sing our lullaby. Start on the second verse.” She’d found a recording of this one day, sung by a woman with a contralto voice that sounded like Cathy’s favorite smoky tea tasted and featuring a fiddle track that hit her right in the chest. She’d played it for Cathy, who loved it too, and they’d begun to sing it to each other when they were too sad or anxious to sleep. The tune was somehow familiar enough to soothe, yet distinctly modern enough to remind them that That Asshole couldn’t hurt them where they were now.

(She’d been highly amused to discover that the song originated with a Celtic punk band whose reputation seemed mostly to be about drunkenness and vulgarity, and she’d gone on to devour much of the Pogues’ discography—trying, of course, to bracket some of the more appalling lyrics. But for both of them, the definitive version of “Lullaby of London” would always be June Tabor and Oysterband’s).

Cathy kissed her, softly, on the lips, and began:

> As I walked on with a heavy heart  
>  Then a stone danced on the tide  
>  And the song went on  
>  Though the lights were gone
> 
> And the north wind gently sighed
> 
>   
>  And an evening breeze came in from the east  
>  That kissed the riverside  
>  So I pray now child that you sleep tonight
> 
> When you hear this lullaby
> 
>   
>  May the wind that blows from haunted graves  
>  Never bring you misery  
>  May the angels bright
> 
> Watch you tonight  
>  And keep you while you sleep

Cathy’s warm, rich mezzo-soprano didn’t sound like smoked tea tasted, but that was all right. It sounded like dark honey, and as she sang, Anne finally relaxed enough to fall into a deep and welcome slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June Tabor and Oysterband's cover of Shane MacGowan's "Lullaby of London" can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pnp8PX9CpJQ
> 
> Do I headcanon Cathy and Anne as a neuroatypical autistic/ADHD power couple? Yes, yes I do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected turn of phrase during her ultrasound sends Anne back to the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an epilogue to go after this.

“So do you have animal nicknames for all of us?” Anne asked Catalina, trying to distract herself, as they drove to the clinic for her ultrasound.

“Hm, that’s a good question.” Catalina thought for a moment. “Obviously, Kitty is ‘Gatita,’—little cat. Although you know, if you asked me what animal she reminded me of, ‘housecat’ is not the first thing that would come to mind.”

“Oh really? What would you choose instead?”

“Kitty has always reminded me of a horse—in a good way! She’s like a fine palfrey. She dances beautifully, she’s kindhearted and loyal, and she so badly wants to please. Because she’s so goodhearted and beautiful, people always overlook her intelligence and mischief—and the fact that if you push her too far, she can and will fight back hard. People always seem to forget that fighters sometimes rode palfreys into battle.”

“I can see that!” Anne thought for a moment. “Anna’s a wolf. She’s playful, charming, athletic, and self-possessed. She knows how to navigate pretty much any social problem, and she’s utterly loyal to her pack. But she means business, and she’s in the hunt for the long haul.”

Catalina nodded. “Jane is a bear. She’s cuddly and caring, and God help _anyone_ who so much as _considers_ harming those she cares for.”

“I can’t decide whether Cathy is a cat or a raven. She’s got the social habits of a cat, but the intelligence of a raven. Maybe she’s a little cat-raven gryphon. Oh, I like that!” Anne resolved to sketch such a creature for Cathy as soon as possible. “Or she could be an octopus. And you,” she said to Catalina, “I think you’re an elephant. You’re the matriarch of an all-female troupe. You have an amazing memory, and you use it to keep us all together and make sure we have everything we need to keep ourselves going. Plus, most people know immediately not to fuck with you.”

“You know,” Catalina replied, “I was ready to be insulted, but that’s actually very sweet. I shall think of you all as my troupe. And since we’re here, I suppose it’s time for me to channel that aura of, as you put it, ‘not to be fucked with.’ Come, _Lorita._ I’ll keep the lions away.”

___

Despite Catalina’s reassuring presence, Anne still found herself fidgeting anxiously as she sat in the waiting room and filled out her intake forms. After what seemed like hours but was, in reality, only about twenty minutes, she heard a nurse call her name.

“Ms. Boleyn?”

Anne and Catalina stood up and walked toward the door where the nurse was standing, but the nurse held up his hand, asking, ”Which of you is Ms. Boleyn?” At Anne’s confirmation, he turned to Catalina. “We just need Ms. Boleyn, ma’am. You can wait out here.” He gestured back towards the waiting room.

“Actually, I’d really like my friend here to come with me for support.” Anne could feel her heart rate ticking up. _I can’t wait to see what my blood pressure is going to look like…_

“Young lady, this is a fairly…intimate…procedure.”

_I’m over five hundred years old, you micromanaging dick biscuit!_ Anne felt like screaming, but she knew (having tried it in other circumstances) that claims like that didn’t generally help people take her seriously. Instead, she took a deep breath and said as calmly as she could, “I am well aware of what is involved in this procedure, which is exactly why I want my friend here with me.”

“That’s really not how…”

“This,” Catalina interjected in her most imperious voice, “is not up for discussion. My friend has asked for my presence; therefore I _will_ accompany her.”

The nurse stared at Catalina. ”And who do you think you are, the Queen?”

“You could say that. Now, my friend needs me, and she needs this appointment to conclude as expeditiously as possible. Good day.” She thrust Anne’s paperwork into the nurse’s hands, wrapped her arm protectively around Anne’s shoulder and swept her through the waiting room door. “Oh, I _like_ thinking of myself as an elephant matriarch,” she whispered. “I _dare_ him to try that again!”

____

For the second time that week, Anne found herself supine on an exam table, wearing a flimsy gown and with her legs spread and her feet up. She tried, once again, to ground herself, to pay attention to what the ultrasound tech—who’d introduced themself as Jinx and, to their immense credit, apologized for the intake nurse’s conduct— was explaining to her.

“I’m warming and lubricating the wand to make it as comfortable as I can for you. I’ll have to move it into several different positions so that I can get both top and lengthwise views of your uterus and both of your ovaries, and especially when I look at the ovaries, the angle I’ll have to put the wand at may cause you to experience some uncomfortable pressure. Please tell me immediately if anything hurts. We’ll try to get this done as quickly as possible, all right?”

Anne nodded. “All right,” Jinx told her. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m going to insert the wand.”

“Go ahead.” _Don’t clench. Relax. No one will hurt you. No one expects anything. Also you seem to have difficulty staying dead._ She reached for Catalina’s hand and gripped it tightly.

Dr. Landon and Jinx had both been honest—the feeling of the wand prodding firmly behind her cervix was odd and unpleasant. Nonetheless, she’d been holding her own, even cracking jokes as Jinx explained what the ultrasound showed—until Jinx, through no fault of their own, used a word that none of them, Anne herself included, had anticipated would send her reeling.

“All right,” Jinx said. “Here’s your left ovary, and you can see that it looks slightly enlarged. I’m not qualified to officially read this myself, but I can tell you that it doesn’t look too worrisome to me. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dr. Landon is right and it’s only a functional cyst…”

_Only._

_Only._

_She was in bed, still exhausted and raw from Elizabeth’s birth, but she was utterly in love with the tiny, flame-headed imp, and held her just as much as decorum allowed._

_She could hear her ladies whispering around her, repeating the court gossip. Some whispered relief and congratulations—“a healthy child, thank God, so like her father in appearance, and the Queen is strong and recovering well!” Just as many, though, evinced suspicion and disappointment—“so sure they were it would be a prince!” And some were downright nasty:_   
  


_“For this result he’s put aside the true Queen and taken up the whore?”_

_“And they were expecting a son? Not likely. Indeed, as the Scripture says, ‘pride cometh before a fall.’”_

_“Just as with the old queen. Only a worthless girl.”_

_Only a girl. She had failed._

_And then a shadow loomed over the bed, and there he was, finely attired as always. He sat down beside her and made a gallant show, praising her quick recovery and their fine daughter. He bent and kissed her cheek, then stood again and addressed her._

_“You and I are both young. By God’s grace, boys will follow.”_

_Maybe to an ear unfamiliar with Henry, those words would have sounded reassuring._

_She knew in her bones what came, unspoken, after them._

_“Or else.”_

“Anne. _Lorita._ Come back to us. He’s gone, and you’re safe.” Catalina’s firm, steady voice was a life raft, and she clung to it, clawing her way back to the present.

Catalina turned to Jinx. “I hope you have everything you need, because she’s absolutely done.”

“Of course. I’ll send these on to Dr. Landon, who’ll review them in time for your follow-up.” They turned to Anne. “I’m _so_ sorry—”

“Don’t you dare worry about it.” Anne forced a laugh. “I didn’t even know myself what would take me over the edge. Brains, right?”

“ _Brains_ indeed. You’re very kind. Now, there’s a private WC right through that door, and it’s got anything you might need to clean up with. Take all the time you need.” They looked at Catalina. “Will the two of you be all right? If you need anything else, I can see what I can do…”

“Thank you, but I think the best thing to do is get her home as soon as possible.” She put her hands squarely on Anne’s shoulders. “Will you be all right to get dressed by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s do that and get out of here.”

___

Cathy’s phone pinged with a text from Catalina: “Ultrasound looks like nothing to worry about, but Anne had a flashback on the table. We’re coming home.”

With effort, Cathy stilled her own initial panic response. _Anne will be all right. She needs me to soothe her brain now._

She sent a text to Jane, Kitty, and Anna: “Just like we planned. Operation Anne, scenario 1.2 is go.” Within minutes, the four of them had sprung into action.

When Catalina and Anne returned, Cathy and Anna met them at the door. Anna swept Anne into her arms and carried her to the warm lavender-scented bath that Cathy had drawn for her. Cathy helped her out of her clothes and stroked her hair while she soaked, then wrapped her in her bathrobe and walked her to her room.

Kitty had tidied the room, made her bed with fresh sheets, laid out a clean and crisply folded pair of pyjamas, and set a laptop cued to the latest season of _RuPaul’s Drag Race_ at the end of the bed. When Cathy had helped her into the pyjamas and gotten her settled firmly under the covers, Jane came in with a tray of cocoa and biscotti for six. She pressed a large mug and a plate of cookies into Anne’s hands.

Kitty, perched by the laptop, looked over at her. “All right, Nan. I believe the doctor has ordered some ‘Snatch Game?!’”

Anne smirked and planted a sloppy kiss on Cathy’s forehead. “You all are brilliant. My troupe of elephants.” She winked at Catalina. “Let the games begin!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: Catalina's palfrey comparison: Medieval and early modern Europe recognized four major types of riding horse, in addition to a few other regional subtypes. Rounceys were sort of your average, workaday, all-purpose horse. Coursers were faster, leaner, more agile horses with significant endurance—what you’d want for hunting or for faster cavalry chases. Destriers were dedicated warhorses—not huge, hulking draft-types like some suppose, but more like today’s Baroque types: think the Lippizaners of the Spanish Riding School of Vienna. They were mid-weight, mid-height horses with very powerful necks and hindquarters that could turn on a dime in close-quarters fights.   
> Palfreys, meanwhile, were what you wanted if you needed to look elegant in peacetime or if you needed to take a long journey in relative comfort. They were bred for elegance and tended to have smooth, ambling gaits—think of today’s Paso Fino horses.


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month after the events of the story, Anne and Cathy cautiously attempt sex again. Feelings ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild-to-moderate plot-relevant smut.

“You sure you’re up for doing this again?” It had been a full month since Anne’s first office visit, two weeks since she had begun taking a low-dose, androgenic birth control pill that Dr. Landon assured her had the best chance of shutting down her ovaries with minimal consequences for her libido, and two days since she had finally been able to bring herself to orgasm without pain.

She looked up from the hair tie she had been winding around her fingers. “Am I sure? No. But do I want to? God, like anything.” They were sitting, facing one another, on Cathy’s bed, fully clothed.

“Well, we don’t have to try anything fancy at first. I won’t make you wait today—”

“I’ve had to wait a _month,_ during which you have _not,_ might I remind you, refrained from saying ‘hermeneutic,’ ‘unmediated,’ ‘reception history,’ or ‘heteroglossia.’ It was very cruel of you, but nevertheless I believe that is a record.”

Cathy smirked. “Well. Shall I begin to destabilize your bodily metanarrative?”

Anne leaned over and began to unbutton Cathy’s shirt. “You asshole. Fuck me immediately.”

___

Cathy had badly missed so many little things about fucking Anne—the flush of her skin and the trembling of her limbs, the creative insults she flung at her as she grew frantic with desire that sent almost painful jolts of sensation throughout her body, the way she came utterly apart under Cathy’s patient and mischievous touch—but as they shed layers of clothing and began to grasp at each other with increasing urgency, she felt her own body tremble with dread. Her eyes felt hot, and the salt of her tears began to mingle with the taste of Anne’s mouth and skin.

“Catherine.” Anne had stopped touching her, and caught Cathy’s hands in her own. “Are you crying?”

Cathy nodded. “I’m scared. I know it’s nothing to worry about, but I’m scared it will hurt you anyway, and my brain will take me back to when I died again. I want you so much I can’t stand it, but I don’t want to go back there! And then when I think about how an insignificant little sac of fluid might ruin our sex life…”

She blinked furiously, and felt Anne cup her face in her hands and kiss her eyelids. “The memories are so unfair, aren’t they? I imagine that’s why we’ve all paired up among ourselves. There’s just no way anyone who hasn’t come back could even begin to understand what all this feels like.” She traced her fingers gently down Cathy’s spine, and Cathy was almost overcome with tenderness and arousal all at once. “You’re always the one driving the scene, you’re always taking care of me, and I love it. But maybe let me take care of you this time?”

Cathy nodded slowly. “I’d like that.” She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, and then she felt Anne place her strong, clever hands on her shoulders, guiding her to lie down on her back with her head propped on a pillow. She felt Anne’s soft, impish lips and tongue brush the tears from her cheeks and dance along her neck and collarbone, felt Anne take her left breast in her hand and hold it carefully, as though it were filled with precious liquid, while her thumb circled her nipple until it was firm and swollen.

She felt Anne straddle her backwards; heard her say “may I?” as she drew Cathy’s hand between her legs, and she nodded and whispered “yes, yes, always yes,” reaching up eagerly to bury her fingers in the slick warmth she’d missed for so long. She felt Anne’s lips make their way down her stomach, nipping lightly at her hipbones, and she arched her back and lifted her pelvis to meet her, crying out as Anne’s mouth slid home.

Not until they were both sated and spent and lay in a tangle of limbs and sheets did Cathy open her eyes. She tried to burn every detail into her memory—the angle of the afternoon light falling on her warm brown arms and Anne’s pale shoulders, the sound of Anne’s calm and rhythmic breathing, the smell of her cunt in Anne’s hair. She thought back a month, when they’d been right here and Anne had cried out in pain instead, and for a moment she felt a wisp of phantom pain threatening to tear through her pelvis, still throbbing slightly from the echoes of her orgasm.

Then Anne shifted, draping her thigh across Cathy’s midsection, and the weight on her core pressed away the pain and panic and drove off any shades of her old chamber at Sudley Castle from behind her eyes. There was only her, and Anne, and her room in this house that the six of them had turned into the safest, most wonderful place any of them had ever known.

“Anne,” she breathed. “We’re back home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting--I do greatly appreciate the feedback!
> 
> *The line "I won't make you wait" is a call-back to “Love and Work,” which establishes that Anne and Cathy’s shared kink is orgasm delay/denial. This takes place in the same universe as that fic.
> 
> *I 100% stole Cathy's line about "destabilizing your bodily metanarrative" from Alison Bechdel’s Dykes to Watch Out For #268, “Dirty Movies:”  
> Sydney: Okay, okay! I’ll come to the movies with you! Now say it! Please!  
> Mo, rolling her eyes: Oh baby. Let me privilege lesbian positionality by destabilizing your bodily metanarrative.
> 
> Re: Anne addressing Cathy as "Catherine" here--I imagine that Anne uses any of the C/Katherines’ full names in only two circumstances: either when she’s being really soft, or when she is in a towering, hyperfocused fury. (She is extremely scary in the latter circumstance, and if I ever fill in enough of the blanks to get there, we’ll see her in that state later on in "Aleinu." Poor Kitty…but I promise she can hold her own!)


End file.
